Re-Adjusting
by Lucas Moretto
Summary: Re-adjusting to life at home, after coming back from deployment.


"LUCAS! Lucas, get your ass out of bed this instant" Three loud raps on my bedroom door accompanied my fathers' booming voice, causing me to sit bolt upright in bed, pulled from the dream I'd been having night after night since I had come home.

Sweat slowly rolled down from my forehead, the sheets around me in a tangled mess, wrapped tightly around my legs and waist. Obviously I had been thrashing around again. It didn't always accompany the dreams, but when it did, it was violent. No one could risk falling sleep next to me, for fear of being punched, kicked and even on occasion, gripped by the throat. I say that, because it's happened once.

My best friend Josh and I had passed out drunk my first weekend home; we had spent most of the day on a massive pub crawl throughout the city, hitting every bar and club that would let us in. After making it back to my place, we carried on drinking into the small hours, recounting some of my experiences in my time away, at his request.

Talking of the incident that had occurred the previous spring, he listened avidly, clearly shocked by some of the things he heard coming from my mouth. At one point, I swore he had a look of utter disbelief on his face. I didn't know if he thought I was spinning a load of bullshit, or if he truly was just that shocked. I had never shown the level of violence I was describing, the sick and twisted torture methods I would employ to get my job done. Of course, not many knew the things I would do, only those who saw it first hand, and now Josh. I made him swear never to tell a soul, whether he believed me or not.

Hours later, we were both out of it on the large sofa, empty bottles scattered around us when it started. My whole body jerked around violently, fists clenched as they connected with the cushions around me. In my head, all I could see were soldiers all around, some in close quarters combat, firing at point blank range, others shooting from long range, with assault rifles and snipers. Bodies fell all around, my friends and comrades. We fought through the assault, giving all we could to overcome the attack. Explosions ripped through the desert landscapes, sending debris flying in all directions. I was in a toe to toe fight, fists flew, our guns discarded at our feet, void of all ammo from the battle that had dragged on for hours. With sheer adrenaline driving my instincts and actions, my hand darted forward and fingers wrapped tightly around his throat as I dragged him to the ground, choking him slowly. He spluttered and coughed, voice strained as he pleaded for his life. "Lucas, stop, please. Wake up. Lucas!"

Confusion immediately coursed through me, how did he know my name? Why was he telling me to wake up?

Then the image was gone, my eyes flew open to see Josh held down beneath me, my hand around his throat with an iron grip, his eyes wide and pleading. Instantly loosening my grip and letting go of him, I backed up, hands over my face as I shook my head. "Shit, I'm so sorry man. Fuck, what the hell just happened, I was dreaming, how...? Are you alright?"

Pushing my dampened hair back off my forehead, I swallowed thickly at the memory. I could have killed my best friend, whilst dreaming. Ever since then, the dreams had only gotten worse, and more frequent. I couldn't deny that it was affecting my everyday life, it would to anyone.

Untangling myself from my sheets, I swung my legs round and rose from bed, snapping at my father who continued to slam his fists against the door. "Alright! I'm up, jeez. Why don't you save your fucking voice, dad? I'm sure there are more important things you need it for, rather than bellowing at me all damned day."

Turning my back to the door, I shook my head as a scowl crossed my features. I was sick of the same thing every day, he would wake me up, bright and early in the hopes that I would happily go into the office with him. Not a chance in hell I would. Walking into my bathroom, I switched on the shower and let the water run for a moment before stepping under the hot stream, sighing as the tension eased a fraction as it cascaded over my body. Pressing my palms against the hard tiles, I let my head fall forward as the water flowed down my back, standing there for a good five minutes before quickly washing and then stepping out and grabbing a towel to wrap loosely round my waist. I had to do something; I couldn't stand to put up with this every day for much longer, I was steadily coming dangerously close to completely snapping, and I had no idea what would happen if I did...


End file.
